


Tread the ground on which wisdom walks

by harnatano (orphan_account)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousin Incest, Forge Sex, M/M, NSFW, and an embarrassing discussion, gay elves, some embarrassing revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5635105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/harnatano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gift for a dear friend who gave me the plot: "Tyelpe having a crush on Finrod and after months of developing it, one night he sees his dad and Finrod in the forge."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tread the ground on which wisdom walks

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for explicit smut, nsfw, cousincest, gay elves grossly kissing and groping, etc + accidental voyeurism and one stupid Noldo unable to face his responsibilities (Seriously though, Curufin isn't feeling very well...)

"Be quiet, Felagund! I do not have any gag here, to put between these pretty lips of yours, but it is not a reason to be so loud.”

The speech had been spat in a breath, and although Curufin’s face was half buried into his cousin's tresses, blinded by the gold of his hair, he knew Finrod was smiling, mocking his harshness and overdramatic tone. But with Felagund's legs tangled with his own, the king sitting on the workshop table and Curufin standing against him, their chests and their cores touching and rubbing, the Fëanorian could hardly do anything against Finrod's irritating amusement.

“A kiss would keep me quiet, cousin.” Came the reply, soft and teasing into Curufin's ear. “All you have to do is to press your lips against mine... If they are as pretty as you claim, then it should not be too complicated.”

During the second that followed, Curufin wrapped his fingers around Finrod's chin and slightly pulled him away, only to look into his cousin's silver eyes, a movement which instantly gave the king a new reason to moan. His fingers gliding against the Nauglamir, and his erection pressing harder against Finrod's thigh, Curufin held him tightly, the look in his eyes revealing nothing but sheer lust and the slightest irriation. “You will have to be more convincing if you want me to kiss you, Felagund.”

During the past years, it had become a ritual, an endless fight between the two Noldor, and if it had become more complicated to tolerate his cousin's presence, it was even more complicated to ignore the terrible lust which was aching and burning in the pit of his stomach each time Finrod was around. A lust the king always managed to kindle and to tease - sometimes unconsciously - until the Fëanorian gave in. And he gave in, wholly, absolutely, ignoring his shame for the moment it lasted, putting it aside as far as he could. And when this shame came back, hitting him in the guts and digging into his sanity, Curufin was left bear and powerless in front of his own weaknesses. 

The game though, the sinful battle between Curufin and Finrod would go on, and it was going on as the golden king pressed his own chest against his cousin, as he managed to free his chin from Curufin's grip and to reach his neck. “Then I shall kiss you and keep my own lips busy until you show yourself brave enough to face me.”

Oh, Curufin would have pulled away, if only for the implications of these words, but the touch of Finrod's lips against his skin sent a long shiver through his body, and the only thing he managed to do was to take hold of Finrod's hair, calloused fingers sinking into the gold as his other hand grabbed the king's hip.

“Be careful with your words, cousin.” Curufin groaned, his whole body boiling with lust, his eyes closed by the intensity of his need. “You might be the king out there, but here you are in _my_ forge. _My_ workshop, where I give the orders.” 

Once again, Curufin felt Felagund smile against his throat and the golden king let his hand slide down from his cousin’s shoulder until it reached his groin, groping the hardening bulge between the Fëanorion’s thighs. “Your forge yes... offered by your cousin, the king. And this is not the only thing I could give you, Curufinwë, if only you'd let me... If only you had the courage of your convictions.”

“Enough.” Curufin breathed, his grip tightening around Finrod's hair as he groaned with both irritation and pleasure. “There is more courage in me than you could imagine.”

“Really?” Chuckling against the Fëanorion's ear, Finrod was now rocking his hips against him, and soon Curufin felt his cousin's fingers sneak beneath the fabric of his breeches, seeking the hardened flesh. His whole body tensed, his breath sharpened, and he found himself thrusting into the warm, teasing hand. “You are a menace, Felagund.”

It was now Curufin who was nipping and kissing the throat before him, his lips sliding between the skin and the Nauglamir. Biting back his moans, he listened to the melody given by Finrod's breath, the soft gasps as his own hand travelled against his rear, his heartbeats, quick and yet regular against his chest, Finrod’s free hand griping one raven braid.

Lost in the sensations, in Finrod's sweet scent and in the delightful touch against his erection, Curufin didn't hear the first knock on the door. After the second one, Finrod reacted, stopping his stroking motion to look over his shoulder.

They shouldn't be discovered, they couldn't let it happen, they both knew that the scandal would be impossible to tame, and the terrible consequences would only be devasting. A king and his cousin, who was no less than a son of Fëanor... None of them wanted it to happen, if not for a question of diplomacy, at least for the respect they had for themselves, their kin, their people, and for the safety of their own peace of mind.

But Curufin, frustrated by the loss of friction against his sex, hissed and pulled slightly on his cousin's hair. “The door is locked.” He growled, lips pressed agains Finrod’s jaw, silently begging for the caress to go on. But the king didn't indulge, his eyes glued on the door. The knocks had stopped, but the presence was still there, and they could both feel it. And yet Curufin didn't pay attention to it, too intoxicated by the greedy lust which was slowly taking over him. Had he been more watchful, he would have instantly recognized this particular presence. 

“Please, Curvo, tell me only you have the key.” Finrod was tensing, the Fëanorion could feel it, and to reassure the king he replied with an affirmative groan, hoping it would suffice to bring his cousin's back to their previous activity. Against him, he felt Felagund's body relax, he felt his fingers moving back against his length, he felt his lips against his skin and Finrod's erection against his thigh. The person behind the door would leave, Curufin was certain they would leave. Whatever they wanted, they could wait a few more hours. And they couldn't open the door anyway. Curufin had made the lock himself and there were only two keys for it, the one which was in his pocket and the one he had given to--

“Tyelperinquar?!”

Time seemed to stop and for a second nothing existed but the confusion in Curufin's mind and the painful knot in his stomach. His son was there, standing on the threshold, staring, agape, at the lewd display in front of him. Finrod's hand slipped out of Curufin’s breeches, and with a sudden jolt of shame and disgust, the Fëanorion pulled away, trembling fingers already working on the laces.

“F-Father...? What is going on?!”

None of them replied. Curufin caught his cousin's panicked gaze, but he soon turned away, unable to face it, to face any them, to face anything, not even himself.

“Father? Answer me!”

The reply didn't come, the words were blocked in the back of Curufin's throat, which was also filled with bile and bitterness and fear. In the confusion, he sensed Finrod's throughts, creeping into his own mind. 

_Say something, Curufinwë. Now._

“You stay away from it!” Curufin spat aloud, grey eyes turning dark as he glanced menacingly at the king, and he himself didn't know if he was talking about his mind or about the current appalling issue. When he turned to look at his son, Celebrimbor was shaking his head, the look in his eyes was but disappointment, confusion and disgust, and Curufin had still nothing to tell him. 

A few seconds later, Celebrimbor was gone, leaving the two cousins alone again.

“You must talk to him.” Finrod stated firmly after a long, embarrassing silence, and quickly he adjusted his robes, his hair, erasing all trace of their intimacy. “And you must do it now.”

“And what exactly do you want me to say, O wise king?” The sarcasm which was now dripping from Curufin's lips was all but playful, and the look of bitterness and aggressivity in his eyes was even sharper than his speech.

“You are his father and you know him better than anyone. You will find something Curufinwë. You must find something.”

Turning away from his cousin, Curufin let out a deep sigh, but already his teeth were digging into his tongue. How could he have been so stupid, so careless? How much of a fool was he to let his sanity be intoxicated to the point of forgetting such an important detail? Celebrimbor had the key, and Curufin should have remembered it. 

“Go talk to your son, Curufinwë.” It was an order that had escaped Finrod's lips. Not a gentle advice to his cousin, but an order to one of his subjects, and yet, Curufin wouldn't indulge him, be he king or not. 

“He will keep it secret.” This he knew. Curufin knew his son to be clever enough to understand the important of his silence on the matter. 

“It is not the only problem.” Finrod slowly shook his head, his eyes on Curufin's back, and pursing his lips, he took a few steps until he was close enough to whisper into his cousin's ear. “Really, Curufinwë? Is it really what you want to do? Again? Hiding behind your bitterness, acting like a coward who cannot face his responsibilities?” 

Curufin listened, his teeth digging deeper into his own flesh as Finrod spoke the awful truth. A truth he refused to see, to admit, but which Finrod was carefully uncovering. “Instead of showing yourself worthy of your title, Son of Fëanaro, you find it easier to stay hidden, you find it easier to lie and to feign ignorance.”

“Get out.”

“I have always heard you say that you would do anything to protect your son. I have always seen you fight for him. And now, because it concerns you, you refuse the challenge, although it is an essential one? What happened to your courage, Curufinwë? What happened to the son of Fëanaro?”

“Get out!”

This time, Curufin turned to face his cousin, and the menacing tone in his voice betrayed the deep trouble kindled by Finrod's words. The king indulged him, but the look on his face was no less sharp, and when he left, the Fëanorion rushed to the mirror which was hanged at the other side of the workop, and with a cry of frustration, he sank his fist into the glass.

XXXX

During the week that followed, Celebrimbor didn't show up in his father's forge, favoring the public one, where the crafstmen of Nargothrond worked in a friendly and respectful hubbub. Alone in his workshop, Curufin dwelt on the incident, unable to forget it and to move on. He had avoided the presence of the king and although Celegorm knew of the secret meetings between his brother and Finrod, Curufin had said nothing about the unfortunate event. It had nothing to do with trust, for he trusted Celegorm more than anyone else, but shame and frustration had kept his lips locked, forbidding him to speak of what appeared to him as a terrible mistake for which he was the only one to blame. Of course he could also blame Finrod, and he actually did, but deep inside Curufin knew that the fault was his, and that his son's anger was aimed at him.

His son. 

Curufin had avoided his company, they had both done so, and although he dearly missed Celebrimbor's presence, he was grateful. It was already hard to focus on his work, if Celebrimbor had been there, in the same room, working beside him, the shame and discomfort would have made it so much worse. 

And yet, this absence was excruciating, the look in Celebrimbor's eyes when Curufin had passed by him had struck him with an unforgettable violence, and the threads weaved by his own paranoia made the situation even more terrible. 

The worst about it, was the way Curufin felt towards his son, just like he used to feel towards his own father when, as a child, he made some kind of foolish thing. 

_How disappointed would he be? Would he still love him? Would he forgive his mistake?_

Of course his father had always forgiven him, no matter the importance of his silliness, but with his son it was different. Celebrimbor had an unnamed power which Curufin feared, although he couldn't understand it yet. Losing his son's love, his son's trust, his admiration and friendship was a possiblity, an option, and the most dreadful one.

Maybe Finrod was right after all. Maybe he should talk to him, if only to get rid of the uncomfortable veil which lied upon them both, the burden of his own sins which had been so unexpectedly discovered by Celebrimbor. Curufin couldn't erase them, for these very sins were now part of himself, he couldn't deny them either, not anymore, but maybe he could control their consequenses, and soften their impact upon Celebrimbor.

He waited another week, and as each day became longer, and time heavier, his own troubles increased, digging deeper into his Fëa as the distance between he and his son widened. If Celegorm had noticed his brother's obvious troubles and the silence which lied between the father and the son, Curufin had prefered to keep his brother away from this particular issue. It was not only a question of pride, but also a question of fear. There was something in his mind, a voice he couldn't identify, born from his paranoia, and which told him that Celegorm would judge him too, that Celegorm might disapprove him too and eventually leave him.

His shame was nothing compared to his terrors, to the fear of losing them, both of them, the two persons he loved the most.

But when on that night, Curufin heard Celebrimbor's voice as he passed by the forge, as he heard him talk and bade goodnight to a Sindarin craftsman who worked for Felagund, he couldn't ignore it, the strong impulse which would drive him to his son. Was it love? Was it guilt? Did it come from the ghost of his loneliness which had harrassed him since the incident? Curufin didn't know, he couldn't explain it, nor did he want to. 

And when the Sinda left, Curufin sneaked into the room and stood silently behind Celebrimbor. A simple brush against his son's mind sufficed to warn him of his presence, but he received no reply. Keeping his eyes on the ruby he was holding, Celebrimbor seemed to wilfully ignore his father's presence, and this simple fact hit Curufin like a punch in his stomach. 

They stayed a few long minutes like this, the father watching the son silently, and the son focusing on his work, wearing the mask of the most terrible nonchalance. Finally, Curufin took a few steps and joined Celebrimbor's side. He feigned to only focus on the meticulous work, on Celebrimbor's precise gestures, he feigned to ignore the itchy feelings given by Celebrimbor's attitude and the discomfort brought by his own misery.

As silence grew heavier, he tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he bent over the table and allowed one finger to brush against the gemstone. “You cut it beautifully, Tyelpë.”

Celebrimbor responded with a heavy sigh in which his annoyance was obvious, and Curufin pulled his hand away, his tongue rolling behind his lips. Their gaze met, and during the second it lasted, Curufin sensed a wave of disappointement exude from Celebrimbor, with a strength that forced him to look away.

“I miss working with you.” The Fëanorion finally stated, his hands resting on the table and his fingernails scratching the wooden surface in a nervous motion. “I miss your company.”

Celebrimbor let out a quiet chuckle, which sounded too much like Curufin's own reaction when bitterness took over him. “You brought it upon yourself, father. I cannot go back there. Not after what I saw.”

Thoughtfully, Curufin nodded, words and throughts rolling through his mind as he desperatly tried to find something to say. His son was the only person in Arda who could make him speechless, and many years had passed since Celebrimbor had learned how to turn it to his advantage. This Curufin knew, and that was probably what scared him the most about his son. He was brilliant, maybe more than Curufin, and he knew his father. “Tyelpë, listen... “

“No father. You listen!” Celebrimbor replied firmly, turning to face his father, bright, silver eyes sinking into Curufin's gaze. “I am not a child anymore. As a matter of fact, I have grown up, and I am old enough to understand how it works. How you work. I am old enough to see through your lies.”

Curufin's face sharpened, suddenly losing his softness as offense rolled over him. “I have never lied to you.”

“You are doing it again.”

They both looked at each other, the palpable tension filling the workshop as Curufin swallowed the painful knot which lingered in his throat, shaking his head and clenching his fists, convinced that his son was unfair, that he was only using this argument to pull him down. But he bit back his anger, and when Curufin talked again, his voice was firm but quiet. “If I did, it was only to protect you.”

Rolling his eyes, Celebrimbor stepped away, and his mind was now closed to Curufin, who found himself unable to grasp anything from it. “Protect me from what, exactly, father?”

_From me._

That was the only answer that popped up in Curufin's mind, and if his son's mind had been open, he would have ceized it.

But they were too far from each other now, as if a wall of granite was standing between them, built by the threatening insanity which had lingered in the back of Curufin's mind during the past decades, always pulling him away from reality, and from Celebrimbor. It was obvious to Curufin, that Celebrimbor's attitude, his bitterness towards his father wasn't only the fruit of what he had witnessed in the forge. The Fëanorion was certain that it came from something deeper, a quiet discomfort which had dwelt between them for a few years. The incident had only triggered the outburst. 

And while Curufin contemplated the situation, he didn't realise how Celebrimbor's features had softened, though the firm determination in his eyes hadn't disappeared. “Father, what happened to you?”

Speechless – again – Curufin turned away. Another way to hide how distraught he was by the question, by Celebrimbor's clairvoyance and by the guilt which tasted like bile in the back of his throat. “What are you talking about? Nothing happened...”

“You lie. We both know it, and the man you used to be, the man who is my father and whom I love and respect as such would not lie in my face. He would not lie to himself.” Gazing at his son over his shoulder, Curufin tried to reply, but Celebrimbor was faster, and he continued, cutting off whatever his father had to say. “The king? Your cousin? The one for whom you had so many disrespectful words, despite his generosity? The one who is, and I quote you, 'a useless crowned head, with a lovely face and a golden tongue for only advantages'? He welcomed us, our people, he saved us. And you... you drag his name through the mud, only to _fuck_ him a few hours later?!” 

“Tyelperinquar!” Eyes wide open with shock and offense, Curufin pointed his finger at his son, uncounscioulsy stepping towards him. “I am still your father and you owe me some respect.”

“Show a bit of respect to yourself, and then I shall respect you again.” Celebrimbor stated, and surprisingly, in this very moment, he seemed taller than his father, though their eyes were on the same level. “These insults towards him, were they lies too, father?”

“No.” Not really. Despite his gratefulness for the shelter offered by Finrod, Curufin despised his cousin, and the hours they had both spent in the royal chambers had changed nothing to that. What attracted the Fëanorion to the king was not affection, but a powerful hunger for something he would never have. What pulled him towards Felagund was greed and envy, it was the lust which had been asleep for too long and which had been awoken by the flames of this threatening lunacy, awoken by Finrod's beauty, by Finrod himself, who had skillfully kindled the embers. And yet, this was a truth Curufin couldn't yet grasp, not totally at least, and even if he could, with what words could he explain it to his son. 

Taking a deep breath, and looking away - for the eye contact started to become unbearable, especially with all the repulsion he could see in Celebrimbor's eyes – Curufin managed to reply with a calmer voice. “What you saw... It was an accident. It was not supposed to happen.”

“Please father, spare me your excuses. I am old enough to understand that he was not only warming up his hands.” Celebrimbor's voice, to the contrary, was all but calm, and Curufin felt his stomach being torn apart by the statement. “And in all your selfishness, have you even thought of mother?”

Of course he had. A bit. But to Curufin it wasn't an issue anymore. He had stopped being a husband the day she had refused to follow them. The day she had betrayed them, for in Curufin's mind, her refusal was no less than a betrayal. “Tyelperinquar, you know my thoughts about it, we have already talked, and--”

“And no. Whatever you have to add, just stop.” Celebrimbor cut off, and suddenly, a very childish spark started to glimmer in his eyes, although his fierce determination was still there, burning with the strength of his blood, of Fëanor's blood. “Even if this marriage means nothing to you anymore, even if you have rejected the Laws, I am still her son, as much as yours. And in her name, I cannot let you disrespect her like this.”

As much as he wanted to protest, to refute this statement for its nonsense, Curufin understood where his son's frutration was coming from, and he couldn't totally blame him. 

“I cannot let you dishonor my mother, and I cannot let you dishonor the king... How could you do this to him?”

Celebrimbor's question was followed by a heavy silent, during which Curufin froze, his brows frowning as confusion buzzed in his mind. “How could I? Tyelperinquar... Do you not think that he is as blameworthy as I am? Do you not think he has as much responsibilities in it as I do?”

It was Celebrimbor's turn to fall speechless. Obviously the thought hadn't even brushed against his mind before, and obviously he had never imagine that the king could be as guilty as his father. An evidence which Curufin instantly understood despite the new wave of tormenting feelings that it brought. “Whether you want it or not, Tyelperinquar, you will have to accept that he came to my workshop in the middle of the night, and that he was looking for me.”

Much to Curufin's dismay, Celebrimbor shook his head, wincing and turning away, like his father had done only a few minutes before; hiding. “You are lying again.”

“Tyelperinquar...” Curufin began, and this time he tried to summon all the wisdom he could still grasp, despite the dark veil of despair which was covering his mind. “If It has been someone else with me, on that night, would your reaction be different?”

“No.” Came the reply, but Celebrimbor’s voice was different now, it was younger, more childish, somehow innocent; Curufin didn't need more to understand that he was slowly reaching an important point. 

“No father, I would still be angry. Because of mother. Because, no matter who could attract you, the man you used to be wouldn't have given in to it. Because it is something only the man you have become would do.”

Curufin didn't need to hear more about it. He knew what Celebrimbor implied. _The man he had become_ , the man who couldn't sleep anymore, the man who didn't talk much anymore, the man who judged and hid. A man whose selfishness, blindness and paranoia gushed from every pores of his skin. But there was something else he wanted to hear, something that he could guess from the sudden change in Celebrimbor's attitude. And he needed to ask. “But it is Felagund who attracted me.” He felt it like a confession, though it wasn't a secret anymore. “And it bothers you. It bothers you more because I chose Felagund, does it not?” 

Celebrimbor didn't reply, and as a child caught in the act would do, he looked down at his feet, his teeth sinking into his lower lip; an attitude Curufin knew too well, and which he couldn't ignore. The truth appeared so very clearly to him now; an absurd truth, a terrible truth, something that made him feel guilty, hurt, and uncomfortable at the same time. He remembered all these times, when his son had defended Finrod in front of him, the respectul bows and the look in Celebrimbor's eyes each time the king had spoken to him. What Curufin had taken for his son's respect and admiration towards the golden king, was in fact a deeper feeling.

And in Curufin was arising a fierce hate for Felagund. Hatred accompanied by shame and frustration. During the last months, he had done everything in his power to keep those two aspects of his life apart. One part belonged to his son, to the moments of friendship and work they could share, and the other one belonged to the night, to the lustful bounds that pulled him towards his cousin. And when he was with Celebrimbor, to Curufin, Finrod turned back into a chaste creature with no power of seduction, a sexless king. Only a politician with who he would argue and play a platonic game of power. But now, these two different aspects were merging, and Curufin was lost between them, between his son -whom he had always chosen to see as a sexless being – and the intoxicating charm which could exude from Finrod.

“Tyelpë...” He was now speaking quietly, almost in a whisper, and gently he rested his hand upon Celebrimbor's shoulder. If he couldn't win his forgiveness, and if couldn't get rid of his own shame, he could at least try to provide him some comfort. But Celebrimbor shrugged the hand off, with the obvious will to refuse anything his father had to offer. “Please father, do not say anything. None of your words about it would help.”

His hand passing over his face and his fingers rubbing his eyes, Curufin let out a deep sigh, which was meaningful enough to make Celebrimbor look at him worriedly. “Father... It is too embarrassing.”

Curufin could only nod, sharing the same sentiment on the matter, and yet it was hard, it was impossible to ignore this reality. There were words which needed to be said, but none of them was willing to speak them, nor to hear them.

“What exactly do you want me to do, Tyelpë?” At this point, Curufin didn't know anymore. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, or to feel, what he was prepared to do, nor how this twisted situation should be handled. He could only rely on his son, for Celebrimbor, after all, had recently proved hiself braver than his father.

And yet he didn't quite reply, only shaking his head and asking him to leave. Curufin would indulge, of course, he wouldn't impose his presence any longer. Maybe leaving now was the best thing to do. Maybe they just both needed time. Maybe the next day would bring new words, new strengths, a new wisdom. Maybe Curufin should talk to his cousin, even if, in this very moment, he had only hatred for him. 

After another slow nod, Curufin headed to the door, his mind filled with questions and regrets, and the darkness that lingered there seemed to expand. And when he put his fingers on the door handle, Celebrimbor's voice echoed once more. "I want... I want you back the way you were... Before we lost Himlad. That is what I want. I want my father... My atya.”

Without a word, Curufin bit his tongue and left, but before that, he opened his mind to his son, allowing him to catch the thought in all its intensity. 

_He is lost.  
Help me find him. _

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote shamelessly taken from 4.48 Psychosis, Sarah Kane.
> 
> This fic can be taken as a prequel to 'Deceitful Blessing'.


End file.
